Version 6.0ish. Digital Humanities. Running. Linux.

Ada Lovelace Day is an awesome idea going on today to celebrate women in technology. Participants are asked to blog about a woman in technology who has inspired them.

There are so many women I could blog about. To name a few: Angela Thomas, Molly Wood, Christy Dena, Samhita Mukhopadhyay, and so many others. However, the woman who rises above all others in my mind, and for readers of this weblog this should come as no surprise, is Jill Walker-Rettberg.

I first encountered Jill’s work via, her now husband, Scott’s weblog while I was taking his senior seminar on postmodernism in 2004. She blogged about everything I was becoming interested in: weblogs, electronic literature, sticker art, and other emerging forms of New Media. It was her paper on that really was the big “ah ha!” moment for me about New Media. Combining sticker art, literary theory, and reader/user participation the way she did in writing about things like sticker novels and Online Caroline really opened the blinders for me about all of these things.

(Funny story about that article: the day I read it, I met Jill! I was at an event on and I overheard a woman talking to Dr. Tompkins, what sounded like an Australian accent, squinted at her for a moment, and realized who she was. I went over, introduced myself, and embarrassingly gushed about how much I like her weblog and articles. After talking for awhile, she was also very supportive of my then burgeoning hypertext project that would become War Prayers. Seeing a link to it on her weblog a few days later blew my mind at the time.)

Jill’s work with has been extremely influential in how I engage with both print and electronic literature. A lot of the first ideas I engaged with while planning what would become my MA thesis came from the time I spent the holiday break before last spring reading that article over and over.

Even if you don’t care about New Media (how dare you!), Jill’s weblog is filled with useful links. Whether about knitting or motherhood, or social networking, or other weblogs, or anything else I’ve always thought of it as the Boing Boing of New Media. So many websites I read daily I first encountered via her own.

Can I also mention that I have rarely met someone as honestly just flat out nice and engaged as Jill is? I’ve been told by people I am bit overwhelming at times, and don’t doubt it, and she has always been a wonderful person to email with or spend time chatting in person. While writing my thesis she has been helpful and interested in what I was doing with her work, to which I cannot truly state how appreciative I am.

Jill inspires me every time we send messages back and forth on Facebook or when I load her weblog in Google Reader. She even went and married my favorite professor, one of my favorite people ever and now they have a baby together. I wouldn’t be as involved in New Media if it weren’t for Jill’s inspiration. Thank you.

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Another aspect of Aberration of Starlight that might only be interesting to me is all the discussion of Lake Hopatcong. I grew up in Hopatcong, on the other side of town from the lake, but spent a lot of time there in the summers before we moved. During summer camp we would go there on Tuesdays. I really hated camp, did not get a long with my peers, and couldn’t stand swimming in public. My antisocial tendencies allowed me to explore the park a lot more than other kids did. I spent a lot of time walking through the woods and thinking. Mostly counting the seconds until I could leave.

It was nice to be reminded that one of my favorite novels takes place in and around where I grew up. We also spent a lot of time in Netcong, where the nearest Shop Rite was located. My formative years in Hopatcong, you may have noticed, inspired a lot of War Prayers.

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One segment of Aberration Of Starlight which was very influental on my own writing while I was originally drafting War Prayers was the question and answer portions of the novel.  The interview style opens up the narrative world for further investigation and plot development.  As readers may have noticed, this week’s War Prayers segments were in a similiar style.  There are a few more like those, but I do regret not pursuing the style further in my own writing.  Perhaps with my next project.

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(who cares)

War Prayer 030

After slaying that guy who is laying in a morgue, or wherever, Theresa vanished for the summer of 2004.  She was replaced by a young lady who was a replica of Amber.  Pixie like in size, hair, and makeup application.  Same stupid sorts of tattoos.  They blogged, he told her all about his referrer logs, and they discussed Pynchon and Calvino.  This only proved a temporary solution.  By the time the autopsy results were released it was clear Drew was being quite unfair to her.  Imposing your bullshit and expectations on a replacement is totally fucked up.  The model is always slightly different and Drew knew he could tell.  Theresa returned just in time for the fall semester. 

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(there isn’t a link here…ohhh, rebellious!)

War Prayer 029

Three bands have played. Drew watches each for a few minutes before leaving the basement and following Theresa down the street to sit in front of the town library. Repeat times three. A friend, who would later gossip about one of your biggest secrets to an Internet message board, observes your continuing disappearance and reappearance. Theresa herself disappears during the second library stop but reappears to catch up when Drew is returning to the house the show is taking place at. While she is gone, Drew tries to make small talk with someone selling a fanzine but says something awkward and ridiculous, prompting said person to exit the conversation and head back to the safety of the basement.

Being a good diplomat gets you a spot in the hierarchy. An X on your hand, writing “slut” on your arm, talk about the environment while sucking down another cigarette. That’ll show them! All of these roles need actors. They began walking back to the show for band #5. Someone Drew would later find out was behind some Online mockery of him walked by and smirked. Years later, it is happening again. Theresa took his hand and led him back to the van. She still had a lot to teach him.

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(“faggot!”)

War Prayer 028

Hey, Drew, remember that time you really sincerely thought they were gonna break down those walls!?

The fourth time this cycle plays out, it’s time for the a trip to the 7-11 on Main Street. A disgusting Powerbar and bottle of water later, Drew and Theresa are sitting on the curb behind the convenience store. A few people from the show pass by, including the singer of totally sensitive band #2, who refers to someone as a “cunt.” Radical, dude. Drew is stereotypically outraged like he always was, Theresa rolls her eyes at how adorable it was that he always had the same reaction to this kind of immature hypocrisy. And would over and over again.

Theresa quietly reminded him that people can get away with tiny deceptions. Public persona’s are different. People will never live up to your expectations. They will do what they can to fulfill their role, if they are a prominent member of your subculture they can get away with that. All Drew can rationalize is how absurd their claims of change and revolution are.

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(second month)

War Prayer 027

The time is around 11pm and the place is the same couch from before. The long summer of 2001 has given way to a brisk evening in the ninth year of our existence together. It will be the final autumn anything will matter for a few autumns. All is silent as we try to read Aeschylus for our class. A few lights shine down bright from above. A security guard yawns as he passes by, tipping his hat at us.

Drew sighs. Theresa announced a few hours ago that there would be no funny stuff until they got their work done. Drew just wanted to be set free from this painful existence. Go out and spend, they proclaimed. That’ll show those fucking ay-rabs. The mall was its own special existence. The sorority girl with the red, white, and blue acrylic nails from their morning class, which they had stopped going to, passes this hall.

Drew adjusts his position on the couch. He props himself on his arms. By now he has memorized the order of their existence. Everyday he saw Amber, dead over a month now, in a face, or an arm, or a smell. Theresa is silent next to him, not acknowledging Drew so he will focus. It’s these waking moments that are the hardest to bear. They used to be able to just wish it all away, vanish into the woods, into other more non-existent worlds.

Today, it is just Drew and Theresa. All the good dreams and worlds that used to guard them are crumbling. The original evil, that good old friend, is beginning to terrorize them. Sometimes Drew wanted to fight his own War On Terror against these evildoers.

Theresa cleared her throat. Time to go finish The Oresteia.

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